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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844520">It's your serve, and the score is love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma_club/pseuds/dharma_club'>dharma_club</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billionaire!Kyle, M/M, Non-Chronological, Not Hockey Players (Hockey RPF), TennisCoach!Willy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:00:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma_club/pseuds/dharma_club</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle buys a house in the Hamptons and decides to take tennis lessons. Enter William.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Dubas/William Nylander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's your serve, and the score is love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A huge thanks to Mer for her priceless beta!!</p><p>And thank you all, as always, for reading.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>William’s head emerges from beneath the water in one fluid motion. He looks graceful, the  elegant column of his neck flowing into strong sun-burnt shoulders, but the illusion of perfection is almost immediately ruined, William shaking his head from side to side, as if he were an especially unruly dog. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Kyle smiles fondly at him from his place on the edge of the pool. He can’t help himself, William is a creature of contradictions, and Kyle, well, he likes that about William. He swam a little himself, just to cool his body from the summer heat and get the sweat off himself, but he’s been content to just sit and look at William for a while now.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>William spots him immediately, making his way towards Kyle in the water.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey,” he says cheekily and splashes at Kyle, laughing in delight at whatever expression Kyle’s face must be making. It’s the best sound Kyle has ever heard.</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>Kyle doesn’t get the whole rich people lifestyle. He understands there’s no way around it at this point in his career, that the people he socializes with, and more importantly - the people he does business with, expect him to have a summer house in the Hamptons. In these circles success means nothing unless you can show it off and pretend to be callous about it, and as tasteless as Kyle finds the entire affair, the huge glass windows overlooking the ocean in the first house the real-estate agent takes him to do look pretty nice.</p><p>He buys the house. All seven bedrooms, ten bathrooms, three pools, private beach and two tennis courts of it. </p><p>He just needs to learn how to play tennis now. </p><p>//  </p><p>
  <i>“Oh,” William sighs sweetly and grabs desperately onto Kyle’s shirt collar. “Oh, Kyle.”  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Fuck,” Kyle groans quietly, pressing his lips gently against William’s bare shoulder so that he doesn’t have to look in his face, doesn’t have to know the shape of William’s mouth when he makes those sounds. William sounds so happy, so bright, and Kyle has the clear distinction that looking at him would feel like staring at the sun.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Instead he lets his mind engage in how this feels; William is tight around him, the small aborted movements he’s making with his hips more frustrating than satisfying. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Kyle wants nothing more than to get William off his lap, turn him around, and fuck him the way he needs to to, right there on the side of the pool in the house that felt too cold, and lonely until William was there.  </i>
</p><p>//</p><p>William comes highly recommended by Brendan’s wife, Susan, her smile slightly wistful as she picks up her phone with perfectly manicured nails and texts Kyle William’s phone number. </p><p>Brendan and Susan came by to see Kyle’s new place under the guise of some sort of small home christening, but that’s not why they’re here. Despite the wide grin Brendan has on and the champagne bottle Susan is clutching, Kyle recognises this as the scouting expedition it is. Brendan is his boss, not his friend, and this is just another way for him to see whether Kyle fits the mold.</p><p>Kyle doesn’t, but he fakes it well, and that’s all that matters. </p><p>“We should play doubles, sometime,” Brendan says, when they look out into the courts from the second floor’s deck. </p><p>“I’m a little rusty,” Kyle confesses. It sounds like the deflection that it is, but Kyle can bet Brendan doesn’t even consider the option Kyle really hasn’t played since he was a kid. He probably assumes Kyle is uncomfortable with raising the subject of bringing the required fourth person for doubles, after all the entire subject of Kyle’s personal life has been quite contentious. </p><p>“I have the perfect man for you,” Susan grins, biting her lower lip coyly. “Mind you, he’s a little-,” she laughs. “He’s something else.”</p><p>“Oh?” Kyle asks carefully. If she means to imply-  </p><p>“He’s Swedish,” Susan says loftily as if that explains anything. “You’ll see.” </p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>Kyle has always been the direct one in any room he’s been in - the one who takes the risks and plucks the rewards. He’s used to being the one leading, but it’s William who kisses him first. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He’s gentle, softer than Kyle imagined he’d be. Kyle sort of forgot, or maybe he never even knew, what it feels like to kiss someone like William. How it felt to suck and lick and just breathe against someone else’s mouth, the promise of skin against skin, the unhurried invitation for more, just easy and uncomplicated. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I-,” Kyle stumbles a few steps back, breathless and desperate to put some space between them, his heart still beating deafeningly. “I- I can’t.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>William just shrugs. “I figured I’d try,”</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>William is indeed a little odd, but not in any expected way Kyle can pinpoint. And really, it doesn’t matter - no one is that odd they’ll refuse five weekly lessons for the type of money Kyle is offering. William is exactly the type of person who Kyle imagines would choose to become a tennis coach, if Kyle had bothered to think about this sort of thing before William shows up at his house.</p><p>He’s blond, and muscular, and smiles with this openness that Kyle thinks must be fake, because no human can candidly be that happy to meet a stranger, no matter how well they’re being paid for their time. </p><p>“Hi, I’m William,” he says, stretching out his hand to shake Kyle’s. His voice is deeper than Kyle thought it would be, but it weirdly suits him. </p><p>“Kyle Dubas,” Kyle shakes his hand. </p><p>“You prefer Mr. Dubas or-” William trails off. He’s tall and tan, the definition on his legs and arms speaking of professionalism and care. The breadth of his chest under the white polo William is wearing might be the most distracting thing Kyle’s ever seen. </p><p>“Kyle is fine,” Kyle says politely, William smiles wider. </p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>“You played professionally, right?” Kyle asks William.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yeah,” William nods. His blonde hair and tan skin seem so foreignly in the clean and cold lines of Kyle’s kitchen island, a stark contradiction to how natural he’s always looked on the tennis court. Yet he still looks like he belongs there, at home amongst the glass and white walls that Kyle bought for himself to live in.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“How good were you?” Kyle inquires.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>William smirks, his eyes shining, “I was very, very good.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Maybe I should invite you to play doubles with my boss and his wife,” Kyle smiles at him, just as predatory. There’s always been something hungry in Kyle, a desperate desire to win that beats alongside with his heart. He doesn’t often get to see it in others, but he can hear it now in William’s voice.</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>Once William learns this is the first time Kyle has ever played, he easily repositions himself right behind Kyle on the court, with the intention of trying to show Kyle how to hit a ball. Kyle doesn’t like not being able to see the people he’s dealing with, not to mention William’s body radiates too much heat for the late June afternoon for the closeness to feel casual.</p><p>“Can I?” William’s voice rumbles behind his ear, and Kyle must be suffering from heatstroke or dehydration because he dumbly nods before he can understand what he’s agreeing to. </p><p>He jumps a little when William steps even closer and puts his hands on Kyle’s hips, twisting them a little. Kyle forgets how to breathe. </p><p>“And spread your legs wider,” William says as he lets go.</p><p>Kyle does as he’s told, and William hums in approval, his hand confidently but gently shifting to hold Kyle’s wrist now. </p><p>“Just like that,” William’s voice seems closer now, Kyle can almost feel the echoes of William’s words vibrate through his body as he guides Kyle’s arm in a circular motion.“Make sure you hold the racket at an angle.” </p><p>Kyle flushes, despite his best efforts, arousal and annoyance and the heat all mixing together and clouding his judgement.</p><p>“I think,” he says in his calmest, most dispassionate tone. “I’m ready to try actually hitting some balls now.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” William says casually, stepping away, but he’s grinning knowingly just before he hops over the net to the other side of the court. </p><p>//   </p><p>
  <i>William easily lifts himself off the side of the pool, his biceps glistening with water, solid and strong. Kyle thinks of how it must feel to bite William there, feel all that muscle and skin under his mouth.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I like your pool,” William offers, it’s not exactly a thank you, but it’s not a goodbye either. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Come here,” Kyle chuckles, his heart beating wildly, reaching to pull William to him.</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>There’s no inappropriate touching the next few lessons, to Kyle’s great relief. Even when William teaches him backhand and volley strokes, it’s all done from a safe distance. But the tennis, it seems, has become pretty monotonous; arm up, ball up, racket up, racket down, ball down. </p><p>Not that William’s given up on what seems to be his life mission of looking and behaving exactly like the type of pretty yet vapid creature Kyle finds annoying. His shorts are extremely short, showing more leg than what seems to be decent, and he isn’t even remotely ashamed of intentionally constantly bending down in the opposite direction from Kyle, picking up every stray ball at exactly the best angle to show off his ass. </p><p>Andyes,  it’s a nice ass, very nice even. It’s not that Kyle doesn’t think William is attractive, far from it. But Kyle hasn’t been fighting tooth and nail every step of the way for fifteen years to mess it all up by fucking some cocky kid with a pretty face. </p><p>What he wants from William is someone to teach him to play tennis, and that, to Kyle’s great frustration, doesn’t seem to be working. </p><p>Kyle has the general notion there should be a lot of running involved, yet it doesn’t seem to be the case. William just throws balls directly to Kyle, shouting which stroke Kyle should use when the ball is in the air. Kyle does manage to get most of them over the net, but it’s not satisfying. </p><p>William sighs soundly when Kyle tells him he’s not happy with the progress, Kyle’s tone of voice leaving no doubt as to who exactly is to blame.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Dubas,” William starts saying, but something about that only further annoys Kyle.</p><p>“I’m not some menopausal trophy wife looking for eye candy,” he says harshly. “If you’re not interested in actually teaching me-”  </p><p>“You need a new racket if you really want to learn how to play,” William interrupts him. He says it offhandedly but Kyle can see his gaze hardens, becomes more focused.</p><p>“What?” Kyle blinks in disbelief. “This is one of the best rackets available-,” He just doesn’t buy things without doing the research, even if it’s just a few thousand dollars for a tennis racket.</p><p>“Yes, for a professional,” William explains calmly. “It’s not a good one if you’re just learning how to play, you’re only messing up your grip.”</p><p>“Fine,” Kyle snips. “Just tell me which one to buy.”</p><p>William shakes his head. “I’ll bring you one next time.”</p><p>“I can buy it,” Kyle insists. He doesn’t know why he’s so angry, doesn’t understand how someone like William can so easily get under his skin.</p><p>“It’s fine, Kyle.” William shrugs. “I’ll see you next time.” He picks up the ball basket easily and starts walking back to his car.</p><p>//  </p><p>
  <i>“Don’t you wish you could play again?” Kyle asks William. He’s still breathless from their last match, and he’s curious. William almost went easy on him there, then intentionally hit the ball to the opposite corner once he saw Kyle try and retribute with a volley. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You mean instead of entertaining bored housewives?” William asks. He doesn’t sound bitter or angry, but Kyle knows him enough by now to know he’s fully aware of how that resonates with the things Kyle himself told him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“William-”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It’s fine, Kyle,” William smiles. “Besides, I get to entertain you too. And you’re hotter than all of them put together.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Kyle huffs, annoyed, and throws his water bottle at William.</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>William seems to take Kyle’s request seriously and the tennis lessons become, well, a living hell. Kyle is so exhausted by the end of each one that he can barely think straight, just wants to crumble to the ground and never move, his legs burning and his shirt always soaking wet. He even amends his training routine to what William recommends to help Kyle’s stamina and muscle strength.</p><p>There are still glimpses of the old William, the one who assumed Kyle wanted a pretty boy to prance around him for a few hours every day rather than a tennis coach. But most of the time he forgets the act, shouting corrections and commanding Kyle around until he’s gotten whatever exercise William's been running him through that day exactly right.<br/>
But it almost doesn’t matter, because Kyle feels like it’s working, he can feel his serve growing more accurate, his backhand generating more speed. He knows how to control the impact of his strokes and gets better at aiming, he’s not exactly good yet, but he’s getting there, and there’s indisputable satisfaction of seeing the results of his hard work manifest. </p><p>He doesn’t have the chance to grow arrogant with it because at the end of every lesson William plays him for a few points, easily wiping the floor with Kyle. </p><p>“Do you want something to drink?” Kyle asks.</p><p>William purses his lips, unsure, and Kyle almost takes back the invitation when William nods. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>The thing Kyle hates most about William is his tendency to lift his shorts up his thighs. It’s not even one of the things he does intentionally to look hot, just a habit born of comfort, and that somehow makes it so much worse. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Kyle goes to the bench at the side of the court to grab his bottle and William takes the opportunity to hike the left side of his shorts even higher, exposing a pleasantly hairy thigh that inadvertently makes Kyle wonder if William has any tan lines at all. </i>
</p><p>//</p><p>In the beginning of August William puts his tennis balls basket on the court and looks up at Kyle, his eyes contemplative. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Kyle asks. It comes off sharper than he’d like, but William doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“What’s the point of this?” William asks. </p><p>“What do you mean,” Kyle frowns. “You know I want to be able to play with my boss. And win.”</p><p>“When?” William challenged, he sounds unlike himself, annoyed and impatient. ”When are you planning on playing him? Because it’s the middle of summer already-”</p><p>“Yes, but-”</p><p>“And you’re good!” William continues, waving his hands in frustration. “You’re better than anyone else I work with. And you work for every point, you want to win. So what’s next? When do we stop?”</p><p>Kyle blinks up at the sun, considering. The idea of stopping has never occurred to him, though of course they’ll have to at some point-</p><p>“I want to win against you,” he says finally. </p><p>“What?” William laughs, incredulous. </p><p>“Not a whole match,” Kyle amends, licking his lips. “Just one game. I need the confidence.”</p><p>“Kyle-,” William starts saying, his voice gentle, Kyle can’t stand it. William is here to do as he’s told by Kyle, he’s here to do a job, and if he doesn’t want the money he can just leave for all that Kyle cares.</p><p>“If you don’t want to-,” he starts saying.</p><p>“It’s fine,” William sighs, sounding resolved. “We’ll play until you can beat me.”</p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>Kyle can tell when William is close, knows by the way his muscles tense, and by the way his grasp on Kyle’s hair grows just a little tighter. By how he babbles nonsense, rocking on Kyle’s lap.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>William doesn’t even try touching himself, his cock rock hard and shining with spit between their bodies.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“William-” Kyle doesn’t know what he even means to say, if anything at all, but William is already coming, like a released coil, head thrown back and mouth open in a moan. He gasps and shakes in Kyle’s arms, completely giving himself over to the sensations running through his body.</i>
</p><p>//</p><p>It’s a rush when he finally beats William. </p><p>It takes a week of full on matches, which are somehow even harder than the lessons themselves have been. </p><p>It’s 5-3, 45-30 for Kyle, which has happened before, but usually means William simply got distracted by something or other for a few points and will proceed to humiliatingly crush Kyle once he starts paying attention. But that doesn’t seem to be the case right now, William looks sharp and determined across the other side of the court.</p><p>One moment Kyle’s bouncing the ball up and down, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how William licks his lips across the court and then he serves and they go. Returning backhand, forehand, another backhand, William coming in, Kyle volleys, William volleys, down the line and- Point. Game Set. He’s got it. He actually got it. He’s taken the game from William and-</p><p>He barely registers how widely he’s smiling when he sees William run towards him, a huge grin on his face. </p><p>“Fuck, yeah!” William shouts at him, arms going around Kyle excitedly. </p><p>“You didn’t take it easy on me?” Kyle asks shakily when Williams leans back. He still has his arms around Kyle. Kyle is still smiling.</p><p>“No,” William beams. He looks disgusting, sweaty and blotchy. He looks like the scariest thing that’s ever happened to Kyle. “I didn’t.” </p><p>And that’s when William kisses Kyle.</p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>Kyle spends twenty minutes in the shower trying to avoid touching himself and then another ten with his hand around his cock, thinking about how William smelled, pressed behind him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He focuses on how William’s hand felt wrapped around his wrist, and tries to imagine him there, wrapped around Kyle again, his hand guiding Kyle’s as Kyle brings himself to orgasm, his  mouth pressed against Kyle’s ear, whispering.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Spread your legs wider,” William’s voice echoes in Kyle’s head, just before he comes. </i>
</p><p>//  </p><p>Kyle plays Brendan and wins. It’s 6-4, 6-3, 6-7, 6-2 at the end of two and a half hours of grilling tennis, but it’s way easier than playing with William. </p><p>“Not so rusty anymore,” Susan leers when Kyle walks up to the garden with Brendan, gratefully taking one the cold bottles of water she brought out. </p><p>“Yeah,” Kyle shrugs. “Thanks for the recommendation.” </p><p>It takes him another week of sitting in his huge empty house, looking out at the court like someone he’s not, someone romantic and desperate. Someone sad who looks at a thirty million dollar house and sees someone who could be there and isn’t.</p><p>He texts William and sets up a lesson.</p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>“It’s hot outside,” William says, apropos of nothing once they're done with the lesson. “I should hop into the shower.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He hasn’t made one comment about Kyle deciding to start taking lessons again. He hasn’t said anything about the kiss or Kyle’s reaction to it either. Kyle should’ve known better than to assume he would.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Or the pool,” Kyle says, he can feel the sweat on his back rolling down. William has decided to take his own shirt off midway through the match, hasn’t put it back on yet and it’s been messing with Kyle’s mind.. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Not all of us have a pool,” William laughs.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yeah,” Kyle swallows thickly. “You should stay and use mine.” </i>
</p>
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